


Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On

by TheDarkLightOfTheSilverMoon



Category: Hellboy (Movies), Hellboy - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkLightOfTheSilverMoon/pseuds/TheDarkLightOfTheSilverMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does anyone ever really get what they want?  What they need?  A threesome, of sorts.  Loki/Nuala/Nuada.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work.

_Our revels now are ended. These our actors,_  
 _As I foretold you, were all spirits, and_  
 _Are melted into air, into thin air:_  
 _And like the baseless fabric of this vision,_  
 _The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,_  
 _The solemn temples, the great globe itself,_  
 _Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,_  
 _And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,_  
 _Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff_  
 _As dreams are made on; and our little life_  
 _Is rounded with a sleep._  
 **William** **Shakespeare** , _The Tempest_ , Act IV, Scene I.

 

 

It had started out as a joke - an act to avenge a slight, if he was honest - but Loki wasn’t laughing, and the truth was something to be twisted in his hands.  How had it all gone so horribly wrong?  His own trick turned back on him.  The jester become the jest.  The butt of his own joke.  He had no one to blame but himself, he thought sourly.  Oh, and the oh so _noble, honourable – tragic! -_ elven twins of Bethmoora.   _They_ could take a decent share of the blame too. 

He’d thought it a prank ripe for playing, a bad turn well-deserved.  He should have been laughing now.  Instead, he was drowning in a heartsick sea of pathetic self-pity.  The Jötunheimr frost giant sat down and looked in the mirror.  He shuddered with distaste; he didn’t like any part of what he saw.

 _Maybe this time it will be different,_ whispered his naïve, ever-hopeful heart.  _Maybe this time he will want_ you. 

With a low curse, the son of Odin – the _adopted_ son of Odin - picked up the hairbrush on the dressing table and furiously attacked his flowing locks.  He wouldn’t want to look anything other than his _best_ for his lover!  After all, Prince Nuada was very exacting in his requirements.

Despite his sour mood, a frisson of excitement ran through Loki at the thought of the tall, proud elven warrior; his hand slowed and his blood quickened.  “Nuada,” he whispered, watching himself in the mirror, savouring the name on his tongue, the sight of it on his lips.  His eyes slid to the reflection of the bed behind him and lingered on the smooth, silken sheets for long moments, his mind dwelling on the pleasures he’d known there... the pleasures he was about to know again, tonight.  The flesh between his legs began to ache and his lips curved in a mirthless smile.  The elven warrior had insisted on shifting the dressing table – and mirror - to the wall facing the foot of the bed.  Nuada liked to see everything… Loki only had eyes for Nuada.

He had first seen the elven warrior six months ago, when he’d been lying low in the Troll Market under the Brooklyn Bridge, away from the prying eyes of his interfering brother… his interfering _adopted_ brother, he quickly amended.  He’d found himself a dark little tavern where no one knew him, and had been enjoying a quiet tankard of mead, minding his own business for a change.  Though it couldn’t hold a candle to Heiðrún’s brew, it had been a nice drop all the same.  Loki remembered that much of what he’d been doing that evening, until he had laid eyes on _him_ …

 … … …

 _Six months earlier_  
The son of Odin, _Laufeyson_ , was sitting at a table in the tavern, legs straddling the low bench seat, back to the wall.  He was gazing down into his drink, idly wondering how long he’d have to keep out of sight of the meddlesome Thor, when the low murmur around him abruptly ceased.  He looked up to see what had caught the attention of the few other patrons in the bar and froze at the sight which met his eyes. 

A tall, commanding figure stood in the centre of the room.  Pale skin, white, stone-like.  Hard features, chiselled, like a statue.  Dark lips, dark eyes, strange patterns and lines on the face.  A long fall of gleaming, white-blonde hair, gilt-tipped at the ends.  Broad shoulders, powerful arms and thighs, strong, capable-looking hands with long, elegant fingers.  Erect carriage… proud, unbending. 

An elf, Loki realised; a Bethmooran elf, if he didn’t miss his guess.  And a warrior too, going by the silver sword and spear strapped to the stranger’s back and the dagger tucked into the folds of his dark crimson sash.  The Jötunheimr frost giant admired how the broad, flowing sash emphasised the stranger’s lean waist. 

Loki looked back to the elf’s face and found himself pinned by a pair of sharp, flame-gold eyes.  The trickster felt an uncharacteristic moment of discomfort at being caught staring.  His reaction was instinctive.  Thin lips curled in a half-sneer, half-smile.  He had just started to raise his tankard in insolent acknowledgment of the other’s regard when the stranger turned his attention to the bar, dismissing the Asgardian demi-god without so much as a second glance.  A spurt of rage flared in Loki’s breast; it was a look he knew only all too well – a look he’d seen often enough on Odin’s face, andThor’s too.  Puny, insignificant.  At the very worst, a nuisance.  Nothing worth bothering about.

Loki leaned back against the wall and regarded the elven warrior with dark disfavour. 

“Who is he?” he quietly asked a troll sitting at the bench next to him.  His eyes never left the commanding figure at the bar.

The troll gave Loki a swift look of surprise; everyone in the Market knew the tall, pale elf.  “Not from here, then,” he remarked, the suspicion clear in his voice.

“No, not from here,” replied Loki, the impatience clear in his.  He drew a breath and tamped down his irritation at the slow, dim-witted creature next to him.  “Not wanting to run into any trouble either,” he added through gritted teeth.  _At least, not just yet_.  He gave a brief nod towards the elf.  “He looks like one to avoid.”

“He is,” agreed the troll.  “Stay here long enough and you’ll soon learn not to cross Prince Nuada.”

“Balor’s son?”  It was Loki’s turn to be surprised.

“Yes,” answered the troll, turning his back on the inquisitive stranger.  He’d obviously used up his stock of conversation.

Loki scowled at the great, lumbering creature’s back.  If he didn’t have bigger fish to fry… 

He turned to look at the proud prince once more, trying to recall all that he’d heard about the elven royal family.  Bits and pieces of information floated to the surface, and the God of Mischief soon put his mind to work.  And lo and behold, before too many more minutes had passed, a nasty smile was twisting his cold, thin lips. 

Did he but know it, the arrogant elf’s fate had just been sealed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Loki stared at his reflection in the mirror, his expression grim.  Did _he_ but know it, his _own_ fate had been sealed that night too…

For several weeks afterwards, he’d watched the comings and goings of the elven prince… and his twin sister.  Their faces and forms became as familiar to him as his own, and he’d learnt all he could about them… their habits, their routines.  Nuada had stuck to the Troll Market, and Nuala the Elven Court… for the most part.  Every now and again, Nuada would venture out into the human parts of the city, and the princess into the Market, to attend on friends or to help some one of the Fae who had fallen on hard times.  Loki gave a short laugh; from what he could see, they had _all_ fallen on hard times.

A _visiting_ lady, then; a lady given to works of _charity_.  A lady who went to great lengths to ensure she didn’t run into the elven prince on her occasional excursions.  A lady who obviously kept as close an eye on her brother as he did on her.  They’d played right into Loki’s hands.  As far as he could tell, and from what he’d heard from other sources, it had been many hundreds of years since the royal twins had actually met but each knew exactly what the other was up to. 

It was perfect!  His revenge would be sweet, and as the icing on the cake, he’d get a great deal of pleasure out of it too.  As he’d watched the elven twins, he’d become quite enamoured with the dark, brooding prince.  He looked forward to having that strong, powerful body beneath his own.  It would be a ride to remember…

He’d proceeded with his plans as quickly as possible after that and had rented some furnished rooms in one of the human parts of the city.  Manhattan… a _nice_ part of the city - worth a closer look some day, perhaps.  He hadn’t planned on doing any sight-seeing this time round. 

And then he’d sat down and penned the note.  That had given him a bit more trouble.  The wording had to be perfect – not overdone but enough to sound believable… enough to reel in the Prince of Bethmoora.  Finally, inspiration had struck, like a bolt from Odin ironically enough, and he’d settled on just the thing to say.  He’d thought of the one thing he and the elf had in common – family issues – and then he’d drawn on his own experiences and used them for all they were worth to compose a sympathetic, _empathetic_ , heart-wrenching, _tantalising_ invitation.  Loki had almost shed a tear when he finished… and a sharp thrill of anticipation had coursed through him when he’d got to the tantalising bit.  It was as perfect a piece of art as he’d ever crafted.  The missive had been duly sent, by boggart, to Prince Nuada in the Troll Market. 

And serving as proof of his genius for mischief, as if any were needed, Loki had been utterly and justifiably delighted with the results.  He’d thought there might be some equivocation, some questions perhaps, but the elven warrior had surrendered before the first shot had been fired.  He’d accepted the invitation immediately and had assured Loki he would be at his rooms the following evening, at the appointed hour.

Unfortunately, the appointed hour was when it had all gone wrong for the trickster.  He’d anticipated some problems, the mental connection between the royal twins being one of them, but he’d prepared as best he could and had put in place some contingencies for anything that might arise, mental connections included.  He wouldn’t have to interfere with it for long… just long enough.

No, the one thing – two things! – he hadn’t anticipated were the elven prince’s intense reaction to him, and his own just as intense reaction to the elven prince…

… … …

 _Five months earlier  
_ A sharp, impatient knock sounded at the door to his suite.  Loki allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction but otherwise made no move to answer, preferring, instead, to continue a while longer in his contemplation of the darkening cityscape – his view from the window.  He knew who it was and decided it wouldn’t hurt to make his visitor wait for a moment or two.  _Ten or twenty?_ he wondered.  Settling on the latter, he started the count… slowly.

The knock came again, more insistent this time, and the door rattled in its frame.  Loki turned and looked.  With a sigh suggesting much suffering, he pushed himself off from the window where he’d been leaning.  One final check of his appearance in the mirror on the far wall and he was ready.  He stopped, ran his hands down his thighs, smoothing down the soft material of his clothes, and then opened the door with what he hoped was a hesitant, demure - but welcoming - smile.  It wouldn’t do to look too eager.

He must have got the expression just right because the prince froze at the sight of him and sucked in his breath with a hiss.  Dark gold eyes lit up with a slow, simmering heat, and Loki knew a moment of sweet triumph.  This was going to be easy – too easy.

He stood aside and gestured for the prince to enter.

Nuada strode past him and stopped in the centre of the room.  He started to divest himself of his weapons and armour.

Loki smiled to himself once more and closed the door.  The tension was coming off the elven prince in waves.  He turned to face his guest.  Before he had a chance to even open his mouth, Nuada straightened up and spoke.

“Why did you summon me?”  The warrior’s expression was wary, his tone fierce, harsh… aching.

“You know why,” replied Loki, his voice soft.

“Why?  Why now?” 

Nuada seemed determined to get more of an answer out of Loki than he’d given him in his note – letter, really.  The damn thing had run to four pages – both sides!

“The last time we met,” began Loki gently.  _The first time we met,_ thought the trickster to himself.

“Don’t!”  The anguish was clear in Nuada’s voice.  “I am ashamed of my treatment of you!  Please, do not mention it!”

“Very well, my fair prince,” whispered Loki, stepping up to Nuada and raising his soft, slim hand to the warrior’s scarred cheek.  “I wish more than anything to let bygones be bygones.”  _Once you’ve paid for_ your _transgression, my fine, arrogant elf,_ he thought to himself.

And that was the moment Loki lost all control of the situation.  He found himself caught up in a strong, masterful embrace, the power of which was in complete contrast to the gentle kisses the elven warrior was pressing to his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks… his lips, and without warning, Loki was drowning in a sea of sensation – hard, thrusting… firm, gentle… hot, aching.  _Fenrir be praised!_   His letter had obviously been better than even _he_ had thought!

The trickster groaned and opened his mouth to Nuada, and nearly died from the sheer pleasure of having the elf’s tongue in there.  He hadn’t expected it to feel so good.  Of their own volition, his hips started to move in slow circles against the elven prince’s growing erection in an instinctive, age-old invitation.  He wanted more of him… _everything_ of him.  He’d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams and there was nothing of revenge in his mind now.

Nuada suddenly pulled back and held Loki at arms’ length.  The Jötunheimr frost giant all but cried out with frustration.  He wanted those warm, firm lips back on his… that strong, hard body pressing into him again.

“Are you certain?” rasped Nuada.

“Yes!” gasped Loki in reply.  _By Odin!_ Had his letter not been clear enough after all!

Without further ado, Nuada swept Loki up in his powerful arms.  “The bedroom!” he demanded urgently.

“Over there,” panted Loki, nodding to a door on his right.

Nuada was at it in two strides.  He kicked it open and walked in.  When he reached the bed, he gave Loki a swift, hard kiss then threw him onto the mattress and followed him down.  Their mouths met and with trembling hands, they tore at each other’s clothes until finally, they were rid of the frustrating barrier.

A fierce wave of lust sliced through Loki at the feel of the elven warrior’s hot, naked skin pressed to his and all thought of being on top vanished; he wanted nothing more than to be mastered by the strong, powerful body now pinning his to the mattress.  His legs parted and he arched his hips against the hard planes of Nuada’s stomach, seeking to ease the burning ache in his groin.  A deep, husky moan escaped his lips.  At least, he thought it had come from him; Nuada was making similar noises as he slipped into the cradle of Loki’s thighs, devouring the trickster’s mouth and stroking every inch of his body.

Nuada pulled back once more, bracing himself on his forearms.  This time Loki did cry out with frustration.  He bucked his hips against Nuada’s and reached up, clutching at the elven warrior’s broad shoulders and lean waist in a vain attempt to pull him back down.  By Ragnarök, but Nuada was a magnificent sight.  Hard, chiselled muscles honed in battle – power, strength.  Long, gilt-tipped hair, aristocratic face – sublime, aching beauty.  Heat, fire… passion.  Loki pulled even harder at Nuada, wanting that gorgeous body pressing against his once more.

“For the sake of the Gods, be still!” exclaimed the elven warrior.  “I - I do not think I can hold back!”

“I don’t want you to hold back,” gasped the God of Mischief.  “I don’t _need_ you to hold back.”

The full import of Loki’s words broke through the haze of Nuada’s lust and he froze.  He looked down into Loki’s face with an odd expression on his own – disappointment, almost - and was silent for so long that Loki thought he’d ruined his own scheme before he’d brought either it or himself to completion.  He let out another moan of frustration.

“Perhaps it is just as well,” murmured Nuada at last.  He bent his head to Loki’s, shielding both himself and the Jötunheimr frost giant behind the fall of his silky, white-blonde hair, and slid his warm, firm lips over the trickster’s mouth with a tenderness which surprised Loki. 

He hadn’t expected that.  The fierce lines of the elven warrior’s face held no hint of a softer nature and until now, Loki would have wagered that Nuada didn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘tender’.  He fisted his hands in Nuada’s hair and opened his mouth again to the questing tongue of the elven prince.  The flames of passion built rapidly once more and soon, neither was capable of lucid thought.  Instinct, savage and primal, took over and Loki pulled his knees back, opening himself up for Nuada’s blindly thrusting flesh.

As he guided his aching cock to the entrance of the trickster’s body, Nuada gave Loki one last chance to change his mind.

“No!” groaned the Asgardian demi-god as he wrapped his legs around Nuada’s waist and thrust his hips up, impaling himself on the elven warrior’s hard shaft. 

It was more than Nuada could resist. With a shout, he buried himself to the hilt in his lover’s warm, yielding body and started to thrust whilst Loki’s own aching flesh rubbed against the toned muscles of Nuada’s belly.  The elven prince’s hands and mouth were everywhere, stroking and kissing Loki, driving him mindless with pleasure… making him feel cherished, treasured… needed. 

The delicious friction of their writhing bodies drove them on, faster and faster, and before long, they both teetered on the brink of ecstasy.  Reaching beneath Loki and grasping his backside, Nuada lifted him up off the bed and with one last, powerful thrust, the elven warrior came, pouring his seed deep into Loki’s body as he called his lover’s name.  Loki could feel the strong pulses in Nuada’s groin as the elf found his release. 

Giving a final thrust of his own, the Jötunheimr frost giant reached his climax, groaning his pleasure into Nuada’s mouth as he came hard against the firm muscles of his lover’s body… flying to pieces in the strong arms of the elven warrior.  The Halls of Valhalla could not be filled with more pleasure than this, thought Loki as the storm subsided and he lay sated beneath Nuada.

He’d shut his eyes, he realised.  They flew open.  He didn’t want to miss one second of his magnificent elven lover…  He wished he’d kept them shut. 

For one long, stricken moment, Nuada just stared down at Loki, with a look that spoke of many things… but most of all, of pain.

 _He knows_ , thought the God of Mischief.  A strange mix of annoyance and disappointment coursed through him.  It wasn't the feeling he'd been expecting; he should have been triumphant, gloating.  After all, he'd gotten what he wanted, though it had happened a bit sooner than he'd thought it would.  He puzzled over his less-than-delighted reaction for a moment and then realised what the problem was.  He didn't want to give up Nuada yet; he wanted more of him… much more of him.  But judging by the expression on the elven prince’s face, that was simply not going to happen.  Not now, anyway.

Loki, usually so glib, so ready with a quip, could think of nothing to say as Nuada withdrew from him.  The elven warrior cleaned himself up, using the silken sheets on the bed to wipe off all traces of their lovemaking, and then quickly dressed.  Without another word, and without a backward glance, he walked out of the bedroom.  There were a few moments of silence, during which Loki supposed Nuada was gathering up his weapons and armour.

“You can find me here if you want to visit again,” he called out, somewhat desperately.

His only answer was the sharp click of the latch as the door to the apartment closed, quietly but firmly.

 


	3. Chapter 3

True to his word, Loki came back to the apartment every single night for a month.  He would make himself ready and then he’d sit and wait.  “It’s only early yet,” he would tell himself as he watched the clock count off the first one, two, three, four, five hours.  After that he’d just wait anxiously, his eyes fixed on the door and his ears straining to catch the slightest sound outside.  Sometimes he’d wait in bed and relive that one glorious night as the hours passed.  On those occasions he’d fall into a restless sleep and then as the noise of the stirring city pierced the veil of unconsciousness, he’d awaken, hard and aching, visions of Nuada filling his mind… thrusting helplessly, impotently, against the cool silk of the sheets.  He burned for the elven prince, wanted his body in his, wanted that shattering pleasure again… wanted to feel cherished, treasured, needed once more.  Finally, Loki had to admit defeat.  The elven warrior was every bit as hard and unyielding as he looked. 

The trickster had gone to the Troll Market hoping for one last glimpse of Nuada before he left the city.  Thor had surely lost interest in his business by now and although he was reluctant to do so, Loki  knew it was time to go.  In the month since he’d found Valhalla in the elf’s arms, he hadn’t seen Nuada once and that was not for want of trying.  He’d done the rounds of all Nuada’s usual haunts, even staked out the warrior’s quarters by the subway several times, but always with the same result – nothing.  Surely Odin would grant him this meagre crumb of comfort now – just one last sight of Nuada to take back to his own realm with him.  Loki’s lips curled in a mirthless smile.  Going on past performance, Odin wasn’t likely to grant him even that.

Loki was on the point of leaving the Troll Market when something tapped on his boots.  He looked down and saw that it was one of those busy, scurrying little creatures, a boggart.  The Asgardian demi-god was in no mood to be annoyed and the impertinent creature was doing that very thing.  Loki raised his foot to squash the boggart, when a sudden thought occurred to him.  _He_ had used one of the things to contact Nuada, a month ago.  He lowered his foot and bent down to pick up the creature in a rough hold.  Straightening up, he lifted his arm so that the boggart was level with his face.  “Yes?” he snapped impatiently.

Loki knew a thrill of sublime happiness when it told him that Prince Nuada wanted to meet him that night, at the same place they’d met the first time.  Oh, and the prince wanted everything to be as it had been on that night.  Loki got the message.  He dropped the small creature, which fell awkwardly onto the hard ground, and went to prepare for the evening’s pleasures, unable to believe his luck.

At the duly appointed hour, a sharp knock sounded at the apartment door and Loki felt a stab of excitement as he went to answer it.  He threw open the door, and there _he_ was, his magnificent, elven lover.  The God of Mischief had barely feasted his eyes on Nuada when, without a word – indeed, without a greeting of any sort, the elven warrior grabbed Loki by the hair and hauled him off to the bedroom.  Before Loki could so much as catch his breath, Nuada was ripping the clothes off the Asgardian demi-god and when he had him naked, he threw him down on the bed. The elf made no attempt to remove either his own clothes or his weapons or armour.

Loki struggled to sit up but Nuada followed him onto the mattress and pushed him back with a rough thrust of his knee.  He straddled Loki and sat there for long moments, panting, aroused, pressing his hard cock and aching balls against Loki’s chest.  The heat from his groin burned through the thin silken material of his pants and into the Jötunheimr frost giant’s bare skin.  Loki’s own engorged flesh leapt in response and his heart sang.  The separation had obviously been as difficult for the elf as it had been for him.  The trickster’s lips curved in a slow smile of anticipation as the pleasures of the night – and of Nuada - loomed large. 

Suddenly, Nuada knelt up and flipped Loki over onto his stomach then pulled him up roughly, onto all fours. 

So, the elven warrior wanted to mount him, like a mare, thought Loki, pressing back and grinding his backside against the cool silk of Nuada’s black pants, and the long, thick length of the elf’s erection, in blatant invitation.  And why not?  After all, Loki had played the mare before and found it to his liking.  He was rather partial to stallions and shivered at the thought of being covered by one as powerful as Nuada.

And then Loki felt the hot, blunt end of Nuada’s cock pressing insistently against his backside, seeking entrance to the trickster’s body.  He moaned and leaned forward to make it easier for the elf as he pressed a hand to his own aching flesh and began to rub. 

Nuada guided his shaft to the tight opening then gripped Loki’s hips and, with an indrawn hiss of breath, started to slowly push home.  When he was finally seated to the hilt, he stopped and held still, his fingers biting into Loki’s hips.  The God of Mischief wondered what in Valhalla his lover was waiting for and circled his backside against Nuada’s groin in silent encouragement.  He bit his lip as sharp waves of pleasure sliced through his body, and his hand sped up on his own burgeoning sex.  

A hard, stinging slap to his backside brought him up short, ruining the delicious feeling that was building in his loins.

“Wh-what…” he started to say, looking back over his shoulder at Nuada.  Loki thought the elven warrior might have at least shrugged off his weapons and armour by now but Nuada was still fully clothed and armed.  Instead, he’d only undone the fastenings on his pants… to free as much of himself as he needed to get the job done, Loki realised.  He felt cheated; he’d enjoyed looking at his lover’s naked body the last – first - time. 

Never mind.  He could take Nuada to task for it later.  For now, there was a month’s worth of neglect to make up for.  Loki arched his back and dropped his head between his hands as he pushed against Nuada again.  The elven warrior grabbed a fistful of Loki’s hair and wrenched his head up, giving him another hard slap on the rump for his efforts.  This slap was accompanied by a swift, deep thrust of Nuada’s cock.

It suddenly occurred to Loki that the elven warrior enjoyed playing rough.  The thought excited him.  He started to writhe on Nuada with great enthusiasm and stroked his own aching flesh with renewed vigour.

The elf delivered a series of sharp slaps to Loki’s backside that actually brought tears to the God of Mischief’s eyes and stopped him once more.  Nuada had both his hands buried in Loki’s hair now, pulling on it viciously as he leaned forward.  With his head next to Loki’s, he hissed a harsh command in his lover’s ear.  “Be still!”

Loki froze, stunned at Nuada’s words and tone.  It wasn’t that they were overly violent but they were in such contrast to the tenderness he’d experienced at the elven warrior’s hands the first time they’d made love that they came as a nasty shock  now.  Surely he’d been forgiven for his transgression; after all, Nuada had come back, eventually.  That had to mean something.

As Loki tried to make sense of it all, Nuada thrust savagely into the Asgardian demi-god.  He was soon on the point of climax and with one last, deep lunge he pumped his seed into Loki’s motionless body.  Fierce waves of pleasure coursed through his own body and he called out his lover’s name before he collapsed onto Loki’s back, his breath coming in harsh, rasping pants.

Loki was captivated by the feel of Nuada lying on top of him… the warm huff of Nuada’s breath against his hair, the heavenly weight of the elf’s body on his back.  Admittedly, Nuada’s armour was a little uncomfortable, digging into his soft flesh as it did but Loki quickly forgot all about his lover’s vicious behaviour; it was surely his turn now for some of the pleasure Nuada had just enjoyed.  He started to move once more, half expecting another sharp slap...  What the elven prince did was far worse.

Nuada waited until Loki was fully aroused and then as the Asgardian demi-god hovered on the brink of ecstasy, Nuada quickly dismounted and seized Loki’s hand, tearing it away from his thrusting flesh.  The elven prince issued another short, sharp command.  “No!”  He then tucked his own sated flesh back into his pants and refastened his clothes.

Loki stared at Nuada in disbelief, tears of … of _frustration_ pricking at his eyes.  Surely…

Without so much as another glance in Loki’s direction, Nuada strode over to the door.  He reached for the handle and paused.  Turning his head slightly, he spoke over his shoulder.  “Shift that mirror.  Have it done by tomorrow night.”  He pointed to the wall facing the foot of the bed.  “There!”  He then opened the door and walked out.

And in that instant, as he knelt on the bed, an aching, impotent mass of frustrated lust, Loki knew that Nuada’s coming back _did_ mean something; the God of Mischief was going to pay a steep price for daring to cross the Prince of Bethmoora.

… …

The elven prince called upon the Asgardian demi-god every night after that, and it always followed the same pattern of that detested second visit.  Nuada would take Loki to the brink of ecstasy and then abandon him there, finding his own fierce release but denying his lover the same relief.  In fact, that withholding of satisfaction only seemed to increase the prince’s enjoyment and it was during that time that Loki came to detest the mirror in front of the bed. 

Nuada’s face and form, beautiful enough in ordinary circumstances, was a vision from Valhalla when he came, and the sight of the elven warrior at the height of his passion only increased Loki’s torment.  Nuada’s favourite position was to put Loki on all fours and take him from behind, roughly pulling on his lover’s hair as he rode him… holding Loki’s head up so they could _both_ look in the mirror.  The elven warrior obviously wanted as good a view of the trickster as he could get, and he just as obviously wanted the trickster’s eyes fixed firmly on the both of them.  Loki got the feeling he was paying for more than his original transgression now; it seemed he was paying for someone else’s as well.

Things went on like that for almost three weeks and in that time, Loki knew the torments of Hel.  His appetite vanished, he was tired and listless, dark shadows circled his eyes, his face looked drawn.  In short, his appearance was beginning to suffer.

One night, after he’d given his lover a rough kiss of greeting, Nuada pulled back and took a good look at Loki.  He frowned at what he saw but didn’t say a word.  Later, when Loki had been unable to resist the temptation to move and had started to push back on Nuada’s stiff flesh, desperately seeking the shimmering pleasure which hovered so maddeningly out of reach, there had been the usual sharp, stinging slaps on his rump, each one accompanied by the hard thrust of Nuada’s cock, to remind the Asgardian demi-god to hold still whilst his lover rode him.  Nothing escaped the keen senses of the elven warrior now, not even when he was caught in the throes of passion and bent on his own pleasure.

Nuada’s lean hips flexed and pumped, his cock driving into Loki’s tight, warm body with increasing urgency as the delicious friction intensified, and his balls tightening in anticipation of his approaching climax.  Suddenly, his lust overtook him and his fingers bit into Loki’s hips, making his lover wince.  The elven warrior threw back his head and shouted his pleasure to the roof as, with one last, hard thrust, he came in a rush, his seed pulsing into his lover’s body in long, hot spurts of bone-shattering satisfaction.  When he had emptied himself, when the storm had passed, he collapsed on Loki’s back, murmuring his lover’s name and pushing the trickster down into the mattress.  Nuada started to move again, circling his hips lazily against Loki’s backside.  His hard, muscled body jerked in spasm as aftershocks of pleasure continued to pulse through him.  And with Nuada’s breath coming in harsh, shuddering pants against his ear, Loki finally heard the word he’d so desperately wanted – needed – to hear.  “Move.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.  His hands clutched the edge of the bed in front of him and he braced himself on his forearms.  And with Nuada still on top of him, planted solidly inside him, nipping the sensitive flesh in the crook of Loki’s neck - his gilt-tipped hair flowing over Loki’s shoulders, the tight nubs of his nipples rubbing against Loki’s back, his hard, heavenly weight pressing Loki into the bed - the God of Mischief ground his aching, tormented flesh into the firm padding of the mattress beneath him.  It only took three or four quick, glorious strokes to bring Loki to the point of climax.  A blinding wave of pleasure, so intense it almost rendered him insensate, crashed through him.  With one final, desperate thrust, for he couldn’t believe this wasn’t all a cruel trick on the part of Nuada, he tensed and reared up, almost bucking the elven warrior off his back, and then he collapsed back down again, a screaming, shuddering mass of pleasure as he spilled himself onto the cool, silken sheets.  He thought he’d died and gone to Valhalla. 

The friction of Loki’s wild, desperate movements - the feel of his backside pressing up against Nuada’s stomach and groin, the warm, velvet clasp of his cum-slick channel throbbing around Nuada’s cock - had aroused the elven prince again and as Loki climaxed, Nuada drove himself to another orgasm inside his lover’s pulsing body.  He reached round and roughly pinched Loki’s nipples then sank his sharp teeth into the frost giant’s shoulder as he found his own pleasure again and came for the second time in as many minutes.

Afterwards, Nuada had held Loki, caressing him and murmuring soothing words in his ear as the defeated son of Odin sobbed his relief into the pillows.  That small act of kindness alone earned him Loki’s undying gratitude.  He already had Loki’s cockstruck body, and what he did afterwards gained him the Asgardian demi-god’s heartsick soul.  After that tempestuous night, Nuada had proved himself a more generous lover, allowing Loki to take his ease, and, more often than not, making love to him three or four times a night.  So far from being satisfied with one climax now, the elf seemed unable to get his fill and glutted himself on his lover’s body. 

But while Nuada was kind and considerate most of the time, there were still occasions when a cruel gleam would light up the elven warrior’s eyes and he would increase his own pleasure by withholding Loki’s for several days, though never to the point where Loki suffered as much as he had in those first three hellish weeks.  And when such periods of maddening, tormenting frustration were over, when Loki was finally allowed to find his own pleasure, all the more intense for having been withheld, he would always wonder whether Nuada’s care was more for him or for the elven prince’s own dark fantasies.

… … …

A knock at the door distracted Loki from his musings.  _He_ was here!  The trickster frowned; he should have been on fire with excitement at the thought of his magnificent lover standing outside his rooms now, particularly given that Nuada had just gotten over another one of his cruel moods last night, raising Loki to exquisite, torturous peaks of need, and then pushing him over into an abyss of bone-shattering pleasure with his hands and his mouth.  Going on past performance, tonight would be another night to remember.  Nuada always left decent gaps between his bouts of punishment.    

Instead, Loki felt almost… _dead_ inside.  This affair was getting harder on him with every day that passed and was taking its toll on him in ways he’d never imagined.  One final check in the mirror – he always did that – and he walked from the bedroom and into the lounge, his traitorous flesh already starting to stir at the thought of the evening’s pleasures.  He obviously wasn’t as dead as he’d thought.

As his hand reached the doorknob, Loki hesitated.  _Had word of his deed that day reached the elven warrior’s ears_ , he wondered, with sudden, uncharacteristic nervousness.  The God of Mischief had never worried about consequences before.  It had been a spur of the moment thing; spite had reared its ugly head once more.  Loki felt vaguely surprised he hadn’t learnt his lesson after the last time but he was sick of the name and sick of the face, and he’d wanted to make a stand of some sort.  The act itself hadn’t been all that startling, and he’d gotten absolutely nothing out of his system as he’d hoped to… well, almost nothing, he amended as he thought about the mechanics of it.  And on top of all that, he _still_ couldn’t see what all the fuss was about!  His wondered again if Nuada had heard… 

 _There was nothing to worry about,_ he quickly reassured himself.  The elven princess would surely stay silent… keep her shame to herself.  _Nothing to worry about_ , he repeated.   Forcing a bright smile, the Jötunheimr frost giant threw open the door and greeted his elven prince.

Nuada pushed himself off the doorframe and slowly unfolded his arms as he looked his lover over from head to toe and back again.  He’d been on tenterhooks all day, first with apprehension that the other might call his bluff and, for the first time, refuse him on this of all nights, and then with anticipation of the evening’s assignment… for what he must do.  His dispassionate gaze gave away nothing of the turmoil raging within his breast as he looked at the beloved face and form before him… the beloved face and form on which he had ridden out his lust, poured his love into, for the past four, maybe five months.  He’d soon be doing that very thing again… for one last time.  Now that he knew of his lover’s most recent act of treachery, a part of him was disgusted but he’d decided to allow himself that one final moment of pleasure - of sweet release – before he made the other pay the price for his base, vicious behaviour.  He didn’t have it in himself to forego that final indulgence, not even for _her_ sake.  Besides, it seemed somehow… fitting.

Biting back a groan, Nuada focused on the task at hand; it was _his_ turn to play a part tonight though that wouldn’t be such a stretch.  He raised his arm and placed his splayed palm on his lover’s chest, letting it linger there for a moment, feeling the steady beat of the other’s heart, the burning heat of pale, smooth skin.  He gave a sudden, gentle push. 

Loki stumbled back and the elven warrior swiftly followed him into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.  The corner of Nuada’s mouth lifted in a carnal smile as he took note of how his lover trembled before him, lips parted, breath coming in soft pants, eyes blazing with lustful torment.  Proud, defiant… defeated.  This was going to be easy – too easy… hard too.  

He reached out and seized hold of the trickster.  There was a brief moment of resistance and then the other yielded to the elven warrior’s rough embrace.  Nuada ground his hips against his lover’s – it was instinct, fierce, primal and undeniable - and both closed their eyes against the sweet, fleeting feeling of relief.  It was not enough.  It never was.

Flame-gold eyes snapped open.  The elven warrior lifted his hand and took hold of his lover’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing the Jötunn shapeshifter to look up.  In a voice hoarse with need, thick with lust, dark with something else, Nuada finally spoke, calling his lover by name… the only name he’d _ever_ called him by. 

“Nuala.  My sister.”


End file.
